She stopped as she realized at the same time Lindon did.

Mercy wasn't following them.

They turned back to see Mercy. She had removed her Skysworn armor, wearing only simple black-and-white robes. She leaned with one hand on Suu, waving the other. They walked over to her, but she hurried to meet them.

“This is what comes with getting my power back,” she said wistfully. “I'm working for the family again. I have to go home.”

Yerin grabbed her by the shoulders, but she didn't seem to know what to say.

Mercy gave a sad smile. “I'll see you at the tournament,” she said. “Even if we will be on different teams.”

Yerin threw her arms around Mercy, and Mercy's eyes welled up with tears. She patted Yerin on the back, avoiding the sword-arms, and met Lindon's eyes.

Lindon wasn't sure what to do. He wasn't even sure what he was feeling, other than tired—too much had changed in too little time.

But he pressed his fists together, one white and one of flesh and blood, and bowed deeply to her.

She nodded back to him. Then a second later her face started turning purple.

She tapped Yerin with one black-gloved hand. Then again, with increasing urgency. “Yerin,” she wheezed. “Yerin, I need...”

Yerin released her, and Mercy doubled over, heaving a breath.

Wiping at her eyes with the heel of her hand, Yerin walked stiffly back to Lindon. “See you at the tournament,” Yerin called back.

Lindon waved again, walking off with Yerin.

“Where are you going?” Charity's voice rang again in his mind and his ears at once.

Lindon thought the Sage had still been speaking to everyone, so he glanced around, but Yerin had kept walking. When he stopped, she continued another step before looking at him in confusion.

He turned to see the Sage behind him.

Her young face clear of expression, Charity held out a hand. “I would like the axe back.”

Oh right, the axe.

Hurriedly, Lindon opened the void key and pulled out Harmony's axe. He was reluctant to hand it over, now that he could actually use it, but its power was a little unnerving. And giving up the weapon was better than having the Akura clan making him answer for Harmony.

The weapon vanished as soon as Charity laid one finger on it.

“Now, I have retrieved my gift to my nephew.”

Lindon started to sweat.

Nephew.

[Just to be clear: that's not too closely related, is it? For humans? I know if you left her son to die, she would be after you for bloody revenge, but a nephew isn't too bad, right? That's just, what, a harsh scolding?]

“I am sorry about what happened to Harmony,” Lindon said, keeping his voice steady. “I never had any ill will towards him.”

Not until the very end, anyway.

Charity's purple eyes were cool. “Whatever your intention was, you knowingly opposed a member of the Akura family. And in doing so, you cost us a potential competitor in the Uncrowned King tournament. You owe us a debt.”

It might have been the exhaustion, but Lindon's fear turned suddenly to anger. He kept his words respectful, but his tone had a bit too much of Orthos in it. “When the world began to collapse around us, I offered to take Harmony back. There was no feud between us. No reason either of us should die. He refused, and not only did he refuse, he said he would turn the resources of the Akura clan against me and not rest until my family was destroyed.”

He hadn't intended to tap Blackflame, but his eyes burned. “My family lives in territory owned by the Akura clan. Even so, I did not kill him. But I did leave him.”

He left out the part where Orthos had destroyed the portal.

Something flashed across Charity's face, but he couldn't tell if it was anger, grief, regret, or something entirely different. It was gone too soon, her voice as placid as ever.

“Even so, Harmony was my selection for our team. You owe me, and I collect on debts incurred intentionally or otherwise. I have been watching you, Wei Shi Lindon Arelius, and as of tonight, you have become qualified to pay me back.”

Far behind Charity, Mercy's eyes went wide, and her spirit shook. “Aunt Charity, no!”

“I do not select you as one of the three competitors from the Blackflame Empire,” she said.

Lindon hadn't realized how much he'd been looking forward to competing in the tournament. Nor how much he'd expected to be selected. The disappointment stabbed him through the chest.

Why? It didn't make sense for it to hurt so badly. He was still an Underlord, and he could still advance. No one had expected him to make it far enough for any of the best prizes anyway.

But Yerin would surely be selected, and Mercy as well, on a different team.

He was the only one not going. He wasn't sure if he would even be allowed to watch.

Mercy still looked horrified.

[Aw, cheer up,] Dross said. [That could have gone a lot worse. Imagine what else she could have—]

“Instead,” the Sage continued, “you will compete on behalf of the great Akura clan.”

At first, he couldn’t comprehend the words.

“I will take you with me to our headquarters, where you will be trained to compete to our standards. I am confident you will bring honor to our name, and if you do not perform up to my expectations, you will be punished.”

Lindon turned to Yerin, whose eyes met his. Her Goldsigns were extended, and she had a white-knuckled grip on her sword. She stared at him, silently begging him to say something.

His mind churned, searching vainly for a way out. “Honored Sage, I apologize, but surely I cannot perform up to the Akura’s standards,” he said.

“Not yet,” Charity said. “Training begins now.”

Shadows swirled around his feet, and he could no longer move them. He began to sink into the darkness.

He looked up to see Yerin staring at him helplessly, her eight arms hanging limply at her sides. What was she supposed to do?

He raised a hand to her. “Apologies,” he said.

Then the darkness closed around him.

Epilogue

Suriel dashed through the Way. The Abidan were under attack all across their border worlds, from Sectors Ninety through Ninety-Nine. Sector One Hundred had already been lost, and the others were soon to follow.

The Vroshir couldn’t maintain an attack of this scale for long, but the Abidan were likely to give out first. They were simply spread too thin.

She was not the only Judge to have flown straight from emergency to emergency for months; Gadrael and Razael had not stayed in one Iteration longer than it took to win a battle.

Wherever a Judge went, victory followed. But they could not be everywhere, and they were the only three Judges that could be spared.

Now, she hurried to Iteration 943. It was another nameless border world with a small, primitive population, but Sector Ninety-Four had not been able to evacuate it in time. She would probably have to revert an entire Iteration again, which strained both her mantle and the world’s connection to the Way. A handful of lower Abidan were defending it, so it should last until she arrived.

In the middle of endless blue, Suriel slammed to a halt.

It was as though a wall had appeared in front of her before she could slow down. She felt the impact in her mind, and for a moment she floated in pain, aimless and disoriented.